


Killing Us Softly with Our Broken Hearts

by shirojirachi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, BAMF John, Character Death, First Time, Fluff, Grimdark, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Other, Possessive Sherlock, Sad Ending, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirojirachi/pseuds/shirojirachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A love like this is doomed from the start, wouldn't you say?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One (Noon)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the notes at the end.

A tsunami, a violent, unyielding tsunami crashing against them. His ears rang, guns fired around him, bombs dropped, anything to gain control. Chaos had erupted around him, it had all happened so fast. Before he knew it the life he was accustomed to living was upside down and he was on the battlefield once more. He focused his eyes down the barrel of his gun, stared at the dead bodies in front of him; what were supposed to be lifeless and cold, were ambling towards him and his company in droves. The sickness had spread so fast – first it was one or two isolated incidents then other parts of the world were reporting similar cases of "hysteria" followed by "cannibalism". At the time they didn't know what it was. People would find their loved ones dead only to watch them wake up in a murderous frenzy. Everyone was confused, afraid, they tried desperately to contain it but no one knew how it spread or where it was coming from. It just came upon their lives like a thief in the night, unwelcomed and uninvited. Soon it had developed into a worldwide issue and the World Health Organization (WHO) issued several press releases assuring everyone that they'd get to the bottom of the infection. By that point, the whole situation was reaching a head and now, he frowned and shot at what was usually referred to as "the infected", a piece of his heart ached but he had no time to let sentimentality take hold. He wanted to protect those who weren't infected at all costs and to that end, losing parts of his humanity was a simple and easy price to pay. There again, these things weren't people any more, they were infected bodies being driven by the disease. They didn't feel pain now.

It was an onslaught. He felt the sweat bead down his face, his clothes were damp with the excretion of the task at hand and his shoulder ached terribly. The noon day heat was upon them, it was stifling, suffocating him. His nostril were full of the stench of rotting flesh and gunpowder. He heard a shrill scream only a few paces down the line and his eyes darted to the right to see one of his comrades being overpowered. He flinched when he heard the sound of teeth hitting flesh and bone, a loud crunch signaling the loss of another. John, with the convictions of a trained soldier, turned his gun on the attacker and soon shot his comrade as well – here, no chances could be spared. He should have felt some fear at how easily the choice was to end the life of the wounded. It had once been "no man left behind" but now with this pandemic it was "kill or be killed", such was the way of things.

He had just returned his attention ahead when he heard his commanding officer yell “FALL BACK!”. John's head snapped up as he looked at his superior. He may have been a killer but he just couldn't do that, he couldn't abandon these people! His panic was suppressed in favor of focusing ahead, he had to keep his wits about him. More infected had begun to spring up, so he aimed and shot them down as best he could. They weren't perfect shots but they sufficed, just enough to keep them permanently grounded. If anything, he was a keen marksman, which might have been his only saving grace in the hours post infection. He had always been good with a gun. Though he was a medical professional by trade, he felt his uses with a gun might be eventually necessary. He returned his attention to his commanding officer, as his comrades began to retreat en masse. “Sir!” He called out to his superior but not before firing again. He saw the bullet hit his target square between the eyes, gray and hazy, as it fell down among the heap of other infected.

“We can't abandon these people!” John argued vehemently. These people had just as much right to live as he did, and he was not without some shred of his humanity still thriving inside him. He saw his officer give him a disapproving glare, “Watson, I said fall back!” the man was clearly not pleased at having his authority and judgment questioned, namely by some lowly foot soldier, “That's an order!” his voice carried over the barrage of noise that was threatening to drown him out. His eyes met with his Sergeant, he saw the man recoil slightly. He vaguely wondered what his Sergeant was seeing in his eyes, perhaps he saw the last fleeting lights of humanity dying away leaving him dangerous and unpredictable.

John had his fill when he saw the man wasn't backing down from his orders. He pulled himself back from the front line. He wasn't going to let the innocent suffer and if it meant he had to leave his post, so be it. It didn't take him long, as his loyalty was made up of stubborn dedication and he wouldn't let that go even if his compassion was being stripped away bit by bit. “Then shove your orders up your arse sir!” John said as he grabbed up his pack with his gun close at hand, turning on his heels and rushing into the racing civilians who were desperate to get away. He'd protect as many people as he could before he left this world. He'd make sure his life and his weapon did good instead of greedily attempting to save his own skin.

He tried to stay behind the flock of people but more were crowding in, and before he knew it he was surrounded. He had to shove his way to the side, as it was never safe in the middle of a crowd. He passed an alleyway and heard screaming. He paused long enough to see the infected ambling after a father and his daughter. He brought his gun up and shot down the infected closest to them, hoping to buy them enough time to join the group. He was overly satisfied when they made it out in one piece. A quick glance didn't show any signs of bite marks, so least he wouldn’t have to kill them too. A thought occurred to him – he had to conserve his ammo as best possible, so he decided a grenade could handle the rest of the infected hurling towards him. He cast a quick look around before deciding it was safe enough, yanked the pin and lobbed it toward the hoard. He ducked to the side as it exploded and he saw bits and pieces of infected fly out onto the streets being trampled underfoot by the frantic people rushing past him. He turned moving on, he kept his eyes open and stayed alert, once in a while taking a quick glance behind him. After all the infected, while mindless, were unintentionally crafty.

His mind was reeling with ways on how he could somehow survive. He had to keep from being bitten, so far as he knew this is how the infection spread. He wouldn't take shelter in the military safe house. No, that spot was better reserved for someone else. His mind was pacing frantically as he tried to keep his attention on the chaotic world around him and his battle plan. His attentions were brought full focus dodging a steady stream of fire from above. He snapped his head up towards the source, his eyes were met with high cheek bones cradling a twisted smirk with the bare glint of teeth. Glacing up further he met iridescent eyes, bewitching and piercing – Christ, were they real? Yet, behind them there was a glint of something much more surreal and becoming. That was until he realized this bastard nearly made him into human tender, the thought of which made him regain his original state of outrage.

“You almost set me on fire you mad git!” John snapped at the man angrily. The man snorted incredulously while withdrawing his can of aerosol and his butane torch, “No, I was aiming for that” he pointed to a charred child which had been ambling after John. John stared at her – he hadn't even noticed her before, but then again there was only half of her there, only her torso remained intact. As he saw the flesh hanging off her face which was once rosy and pristine, his heart ached. He looked up at the man, the dark curls hung in his face, casting apparitions about it, yet his eyes remained radiant underneath. “Get up here, quickly now!” He whirled back into his flat, his blue dressing gown flowing behind him as he did. John's mouth hung open slight, it was as if he didn't even acknowledge that he could have very well burned John to a crisp.

He wasn't sure why, but he was compelled to go inside. 221, he noted the numbers as he slipped in, the chaos now just a muffled memory behind the heavy blue door. The ground shook under their feet and the flat moaned in protest, “Mrs. Hudson, come now, we have to hurry!” came the man's sultry voice, even in it's haste the posh accent was regal. John rushed up the steps, taking them two at a time as he did, his gun was clutched hard in his hand. He was greeted with the sight of the tall figure storming about the flat. "Oh Sherlock, I-" she cut herself short and shook her head before she settled her eyes on John. "Hello dear" her warm disposition was a welcome change from the last few hours spent killing the dead. John smiled, "Hello there" he greeted back awkwardly, "Ah, um, Dr. John Watson" he introduced himself hurriedly offering his hand to shake hers. "Emma Hudson," she said taking his hand gingerly. "Sherlock" as he must be called was still faffing about like a whirlwind on fire muttering to himself out loud.

“For the last time Mrs. Hudson, I do not plan on leaving you.” the man said irritably as he had gotten dressed, threw his coat on and put on a blue scarf. John looked at him strangely. It was the middle of July, yet this man was heavily dressed, probably so he'd be able to last the winter. “You!” Sherlock barked out before looking John over again quickly, "Can you carry her?" motioning to Mrs. Hudson. He looked at the old woman, she was small and frail. He nodded, he could easily carry her and still run well enough to keep out of reach.

“Good” Sherlock said with a sense of finality and proceeded to wrap a thin layer of fabric around his wrists and ankles then held them in place with duct tape. John watched in fascination. “What the hell are you doing?” John asked before he even realized he'd spoken his thoughts out loud. The man looked up at him as if he had just grown a second head, “Protecting myself, the most likely places for me to be bitten is the wrists, neck, and ankles, they are the most easily accessible to stray infected.” Sherlock said simply, he paused momentarily. John felt pinned in place by those eyes he swore were fashioned from ice. He shifted under the intense gaze, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked as he began to bind up Mrs. Hudson as well who was fretting over the precautionary measures.

John stared at him, “I-uh what?” he asked. “Hmm definitely Afghanistan or Iraq” Sherlock mused, pursing his lips and looked back at John, his eyes where fierce now as if he were sussing him out. John's brain reeled, while he had a very valid point about the easiest way to be infected he marveled at how the man knew he'd just come back from the Middle East. “Afghanistan, but that was brilliant” John stated somewhat dumbfounded, he saw the man look at him quickly as if John had spoken a foreign language. He resumed wrapping Mrs. Hudson. When she was ready; John's pack was removed from his back nearly sending him flying. “What the-” John stammered regaining his footing when it was replaced by the old woman who was tied to John's back so his hands could be free to yield his weapon. He looked at this man who seemed perfectly calm in a world that was crumbling around his ears, no he wasn't calm, he was thrilled. His eyes shone brightly, filled with the adrenaline that John himself was full of by now.

“Out!” Sherlock commanded he strode from the flat John's backpack in hand while John followed. Sherlock paused briefly as he looked back at the door, John could see the goodbye written on his face. The moment felt so intimate it caused John to turn his head, his face burned with shame for spying. Sherlock turned sharply, as if willing himself from the comfort of the place he called home. "I want to get Mrs. Hudson to a Military compound. I don't care about myself, but if anything should happen, you get her there!" Sherlock emphasized as they walked briskly, Sherlock's legs were long and his gait was enormous, John had trouble keeping up. This was not because there was a woman strapped to his back, but because his own legs were much too short to keep pace. He kept alert and he noticed with a quick glance, his new companion was just as alert. He kept his gun close and his eyes out for the infected which, were rapidly growing in number. John pressed on, he was glad to see Sherlock could handle a gun as well. Sherlock quickly gave up the gun for his can and torch, he seemed to get a thrill out of burning them. His eyes and face lit up as he set the infected on fire and his mouth twisted into a beautifully macabre smirk. John couldn't help it, he fancied he should have felt terrified but the simple truth was, he understood. The thrill and danger of it all mixing together to create an intoxicating cocktail. He was pleased someone else appreciated it as much as he did.


	2. Day One (Twilight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city of London is no longer safe, fleeing is the only option left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, this was beta'd by the wonderful Sheryl Watson. If you see any grammer or spelling mistakes please go ahead and lemme know! I appreciate any and all your support.

Sherlock watched everyone around him carefully, the panic was almost tangible, something he could reach out and grasp in his hands. The faces of those he passed were stricken with a curious melange of emotions - fear, shock, confusion, coupled with the grim reality of their own mortality. He couldn't help but observe them, see them, dirty, blood splattered, bitten, dying, it was more glorious than his days as the world's only consulting detective. Though that was not the most fascinating thing currently in his line of vision, he noticed that John, the soldier he had enlisted to help him with Mrs. Hudson was surprisingly competent. His blue eyes were sharp, combined with quick reflexes and an accuracy that he could only describe as deadly. He would make an excellent companion on the road they were now forced to travel. While it was a comfort to have John at his side, he knew certainties in such things were not practical, it was likely once this man grew to know him they would eventually part. Though that was neither here nor there, his sole objection at this point was to get Mrs. Hudson to the military safe house. His plan after that was to flee the city where infected could more easily hide and keep moving from then on and make of it what he could. He wouldn't join her at the compound that was for sure, he was positive he would go stark raving mad bundled up without freedom to move about. He found he much rather preferred this, it kept the boredom, which he struggled with constantly, at bay.

He lifted the butane torch and his can of aerosol, fire was so much more effective than bullets and in nearly limitless supply, save for his need of butane. They ambled toward him, clearly the one to the forefront was a mechanic, his oil stained shirt, his large knuckles, the grease rag hanging from his pocket all signs he'd once worked at an auto shop. His eyes were hazed over, his skin was rapidly turning gray due to the increased rate of discomposure. Sherlock aimed and let loose as the flames brought him and his group down in one swift motion, fire was so understated. Though he really wanted to experiment on them, it fascinated him endlessly how the virus broke down the human body so rapidly. From fever to death to these mindless yet animated corpses in a matter of hours he had heard. He still wanted to get them under a microscope to dissect them, to know how it all worked, it was maddening that it must be put on hold. There again, was it a virus at all? It might have easily been bacterial in nature too, a bacteria that infected and possessed much like the demons of old. Though he'd heard rumors that it might be a spore, if that were the case it must target specific areas of the body, most notably the brain. Despite his fascination, he rathed liked living right at this moment and that would just have to come before his curiosity could be satisfied.

In the immediate distance he saw it, the Military compound, it wasn't a place but a ship. A large military ship that would safely escort the uninfected to the real compound out at sea. He reckoned it's steeled hulls and massive size would keep those inside well guarded. He glanced at John who was battling beside him carrying Mrs. Hudson on his back, safeguarding her against this chaotic mess. His face was set in concentration, his blue eyes darted from person to person scanning for infected. Sherlock regarded this man with quick glances, he wasn't married, no children, there again such things were common for soldiers who were often sent to fight in wars that were not their own. Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and yanked him through the line of people who were anxious to get into the complex, he heard John cry out "Dammit, Sherlock!" he said, indignant, but he paid it no heed. That's when Sherlock spotted him, white suit, an umbrella nestled in his folded hands, Mycroft Holmes, stood above the people regarding them down his nose as they were filed into the compound after close inspection.

“MYCROFT!” Sherlock bellowed over the noise starling the near by people. Mycroft's eyes met his and he nodded to the men who were going to admit Sherlock without a second glance. Sherlock shook his head slowly a small smirk playing over his lips, he saw his brother visibly pale as he declined. Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson who looked at Sherlock pitifully, she didn't wish to let Sherlock go like this. “I'll be fine Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft will care for you now.” Sherlock said with small smile, hoping to ease her worries as he untied her from John's back. She lowered her legs gingerly, regarding him with love and kindness, “Sherlock...thank you” She hugged him tightly, but her voice shook as the words left her, it was like she was letting go of a son. He hugged her back, this would have to be goodbye to it all, to Baker's street, to Mrs. Hudson, to his family, and to life as the world's only Consulting Detective. Sherlock spared his brother one last look, he could see the sadness briefly cross Mycroft's face but then there was understanding and a fond farewell left in it's wake, then as if none of it ever happened; the mask of indifference slipped back in place. Sherlock snorted and shook his head, as much of an insufferable pain as Mycroft was he found himself already missing that arrogance.

Sherlock watched as Mrs. Hudson was escorted in through the large steel doors of the complex, she spared him a last look before she was completely out of sight. He nodded to her, keeping a brave face, he wanted her to remember him as he was, as he always had been. She gave him another of her warm smiles, her scent lingered on his coat, hot tea and biscuits, yes the scent of a home he no longer had. He turned to the man beside him, John looked up at him “Are you going in?” John asked. Sherlock looked John in the eyes; finally getting a better look at them, they were dilated, he was on an adrenaline high, he knew his eyes looked much the same. “No, the game is still on” Sherlock whirled his coat flapping behind him, he heard John's boots running after him. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk, he glanced over his shoulder as John jogged to catch up to him, he marveled at John's sudden loyalty. He could have easily gone his own way when they finished getting Mrs. Hudson to safety yet, here he was padding after him with his keen eyes surveying the landscape. Fascinating.

They said nothing, they didn't need to, the silence between them was comfortable almost charming as he heard the cacophony around them. Sherlock easily navigated the streets and alleyways, they only happened upon a few minor gaggles of infected, nothing either of them couldn't handle. Finally Sherlock found what he was looking for, the abandoned tube station, it had been remodeled and re-purposed but no one really paid it any mind. It had no trains in it, and it would be easy to get out of the city with some careful navigation on his part. He glanced over his shoulder noting how John kept pace before he hopped down off the platform. The rails weren't active so there was no danger but it did connect to a few other tunnels and abandoned stations. This would get them close enough to the edge of the city without using the highways which were likely flooded with infected and abandoned vehicles. Now that they were underground he could hear John's steady, even breathing, not even labored by their jog through the city.

“So, how'd you know about this place?” John whispered curiously, “I have all of London mapped out” Sherlock whispered back as he slowly navigated it careful not to make too much noise. He kept his ears alert, just because this place was devoid of people that didn't mean infected couldn't somehow make their way in here. They were mindlessly clever at times, unpredictable which meant every possibility must be considered. This made things challenging, but Sherlock enjoyed challenging, to him this was the best kind of game. He pulled his torch from his pocket and lead the way into the darkened tunnel ahead, above them dust trickled down as the war raged on above.

He listened to John's uneven footsteps, he was limping, strange. He'd noted earlier that the soldiers eyes had bags under them, he clearly didn't sleep well. Likely he was plagued by nightmares, PTSD was a high factor and it was common among soldiers who saw action. He pursed his lips, thinking. John's leg wasn't injured, he had been running perfectly well earlier so it was possibly psychosomatic. He noticed John looking at him once in a while, his tongue slowly grazing his bottom lip occasionally, his lips were going to chap later. Sherlock could practically HEAR the man thinking in the hallowed walls around them, it was distracting. “Can you not THINK so loudly?” he hissed in a hushed tone. John snorted, “Right I'll just turn the volume down shall I?” John jeered in his direction Sherlock shot him a glare, the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly, yes this would be fun.

“Where are we heading?” John asked after several moments breaking the intense silence. “Out of the city” Sherlock responded quickly keeping his voice low. “What makes you think being out of London is safer?” John asked matching Sherlock's tone. “Because more people gather in cities, the more chance for infected to be around in droves. Outside the city there are less people, more wilderness mostly uninhabited, which means that there is less chance for us to be overwhelmed by a hoard of them. If we are, we have free range to run and lose them should we need too.” Sherlock explained rapidly “Do keep up” he said his voice exasperated he had assumed that was fairly obvious. Anyone with a functioning cellular system could have worked that out for themselves surely. “Right” came the short reply, Sherlock glanced over to see John smiling ever so slightly while remaining alert.

Their journey was easier than Sherlock had anticipated, only one or two infected had found their way down to the tunnels and they were easily dispatched. No worries of being bitten when these creatures were on their own, what made them dangerous was the hoards in which they seemed to cluster. When Sherlock hopped up on the platform he turned to help John up who was much shorter and a little more weighed down than he was now that his pack had been returned to him. John gave him a nod in thanks, keeping talk to a minimum was essential, they could not afford to be ambushed by man or creature at this point. They cautiously ascended the steps, carefully Sherlock controlled his breathing, the sounds of the war going on were much more distant than they had been. Though the chaos was not so distant, the snarls of infected coupled with the screams of those who where attempting to get away still echoed.

As they breached the surface, it was made apparent to Sherlock that he had to get transportation, not a car no that would never do. He smirked as he saw exactly what they needed. Laid upon its side, key in the ignition, a motor bike. He darted to it, waving John with him, he lifted it up and mounted it, “Get on” Sherlock said as John easily complied wrapping his arms around Sherlock's thin waist. Sherlock revved the engine and they were off. It was easy to avoid the infected on this, it was quicker and they could hopefully navigate the less crowded roads with it's compact size.

Sherlock felt the warmth of John on his back, the man held on to his waist as Sherlock carefully navigated the back roads trying to avoid the major highways. It seemed only a few people had this same idea, they were less littered with traffic and crashed cars and were almost eerily clear of infected. Save for the ones that were trapped inside vehicles snarling and scratching at the glass. Sherlock looked back at John briefly, the man was paying attention even in the twilight; John was keeping watch. “We need to find somewhere to lay low, we'll be no good during the night” John noted to Sherlock. His lips were barely a hair's breadth away from Sherlock's ear, his breath was warm and his voice husky. He nodded crisply in acknowledgment, as they put distance between them and London, just the two of them against the rest of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own BBC's Sherlock but I should make a few notes first and foremost:
> 
> -The title was inspired by Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly with His Song"
> 
> -I am aware that Sherlock and John may be very OOC (Out Of Character) but I do try the best of my abilities.
> 
> -I am NOT a very talented author so please don't go into this expecting something grad because I can promise it's rather banal at best and tedious at worse. 
> 
> -I had three different beta's for this, Jennifer Nock (Also responsible for the title) Sheryl Watson (Who also Brit-Picked it) and my lovely Kyuu Eturautti.
> 
> -This work is inspired by The Walking Dead Video Game by Telltale Games and The Last of Us Video Game by Naughty Dog.


End file.
